


Earth to Thra

by madluvs



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien/Human Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, During Canon, Fantasy, Human goes to Thra, Inspired by Alice in Wonderland, Midquel, Multi, Original Character(s), Prequel, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-05 18:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madluvs/pseuds/madluvs
Summary: Silvia, soon-to-be-sixteen, is reluctant to stay at Grandma's cottage in the country for the summer. Though this is something she's done for every year of her life thus far, nothing could possibly prepare Silvia for what she quickly discovers about Grandma's plans, toleave thembehind, about the fairies at the end of the garden, a great change --a conjunction-- a shard of crystal and the planet of Thra.The Dark Crystal fan-fiction, wherein a human girl is transported to the world of Thra.Labyrinth / Alice in Wonderlandvibes.





	Earth to Thra

'I wish you'd stop sulking.'

The city was long behind them, having travelled through hours of endless hazy green, through a soft and vibrant landscape, smoggy skyscrapers and cramped streets turned into long and lonely highways and those too, had transformed into rolling hills and tiny cottages, nestled into colourful, breezy countryside.

All the while Silvia had watched the world change from the passenger window, mostly silent, and fiddling occasionally with the reception on the radio - - white noise,  _ talking _ , white noise, vague and crackling music - - sitting alongside Mama whose hands twitched at the wheel. They were on their way to visit Grandma, like they did  _ every _ summer. As was their family tradition. Silvia would then stay throughout the whole holiday until the leaves turned red and dropped from their branches. Mama had  _ insisted _ on staying this year, more than ever before.

'You're really far too old to be acting like this.'

Silvia sighed. So, she was too  _ old _ to be sulking but too  _ young _ to spend her days back home alone while Mama worked throughout the school holiday? Her light brows hitched, her dark eyes glanced across the dashboard. A flash of anger. Lips pursed.  _ Well, which is it? Was she too old or too young? _

Silvia knew she sat awkwardly at the  _ in between _ .

'This might be the very last summer you get to spend at the cottage,' Mama was saying, a reproachful tone, a well-manicured hand waving absently in the air. 'I told you Grandma was thinking of selling didn't I? It's sounding more likely than ever, since they're really after that land of hers. And I don’t think they’re going to drop it. They’re offering her a lot of --' 

'You told me.’' Silvia said.

She had heard the story enough times already. It had been the perfect way for Mama to get her to agree to spend the summer - -  _ and _ her upcoming birthday - - away in the country with Grandma, away from all of her friends, away from reception and WiFi, away from civilisation. It didn't mean she was happy about it, Silvia hadn't agreed to pretend  _ that _ was true. Grandma might lose her scenic cottage in the country, her quaint little handbuilt home the family had treasured for generations. And so, the growing guilt had determined that Silva was going to spend the last summer with Grandma, whether she really wanted to or not. 

'Well, then. Make the most of it while you can! Look, Silvie, it's beautiful. You'll miss this when it's gone.' Mama trailed off. 'I know I do.'

Silvia went back to silence, switched the radio off and turned back to staring out at the green dips and curves, at the fluffy grass and swaying flowers. She didn't  _ hate _ staying at Grandma's. That wasn't why she was…  _ sulking _ . It had been her favourite time of the year growing up, for as long as she remembered. Running in the woodland, dipping her bare feet in the stream, eating crunchy apples from the garden, catching bugs with a net and bucket banging at her thigh. But  _ this _ year, she had wanted something different. Something a little more  _ grown up. _

The first week spent with Grandma would fall on her birthday, just as it had fallen on her birthday  _ every _ year for the last fifteen of them. Only, this one was supposed to be  _ special _ \-- or so her friends had said. Turning sweet sixteen, finally, Sylvia had hoped she was old enough to spend the day back home in the city, hop on the underground and enjoy bustling central London, go to the cinema, sneak snacks into their backpacks, have a sleepover, tell secrets and gorge on a Netflix series. Instead of how she always spent her birthdays, for as far back as her memory allowed, alone with Grandma in the stifling cottage, sipping hot tea and listening to fantasy stories. Watching the treeline at dusk and listening to Grandma count the fairies out loud.

It had been a  _ long _ time since Silvia had squinted to try and spot them.

She was growing up, after all.

There weren’t any fairies in the garden.

Mama’s and Silvia’s arguments had centered around staying at the cottage since the first light of spring and they hadn’t stopped since. They hadn’t stopped as the date on the calendar -- circled in blue permanent marker in the shape of a cartoonish flower -- had gotten steadily closer, with each day, then month, as they were torn away. They hadn’t stopped as Silvia angrily and disheartedly packed her bags defeated, deflated, and watched as Mama had thrown them all askew into the back of the trunk. They hadn’t even stopped on the way to Grandma.  _ Not really. _ Although the silent treatment was certainly preferable to the shouting. Silvia knew she was sulking and she didn’t intend to stop, no matter what Mama said about it.

‘Here we are,’ came Mama’s sing-song announcement as the car turned into the crunchy pebble driveway, bumping and bouncing them about in their oversized seats.

‘Finally,’ Silvia groaned, lifting her big round specs and rubbing at her eyes.

Grandma’s cottage was framed by the windshield, like a worn photograph beyond the glass. Half imbedded into the hilly soil, only half of the dark wood stuck out from the grassy mound, stained by rain and splintered with age. With a messy thatched roof, as sunbleached, blanched and tattered as Silvia’s own hair. The cottage was surrounded entirely by flowers, terracotta pots, trellises entangled with roses and ivy, a wild meadow all of its own. Grandma’s little house was claimed entirely by nature, thick roots of a nearby oak had lifted it from the foundations, crooked and overgrown. It was far from the clean white brick and meticulously pruned rose bushes of their townhouse back in the city. It was far from anything at all, really.

Grandma must have heard the engine huffing, the jeep crawling inch by careful inch into the tightest space, for the gnarled front door swung on its hinges and she emerged from the darkness inside, out into the sunny afternoon blinking and beaming. This lifted Silvia’s spirits, if only a little. Grandma hopped from the stone front steps and onto the overgrown flower beds, her wrinkly feet pale and bare in the dirt. Grandma had always been small. Hunched over, hobbling, a bundle of floral dress, frills and apron, long white hair worn in a plait draped limply over her shoulder. She appeared even tinier this time around, Silvia was sure. With a crooked spine, and tiny limbs, like a little imp, Grandma hobbled over to greet them, arms wide open.

Mama hopped from the car, black heels sinking into the pebbled earth she swayed unsteady, almost falling into Grandma’s frail welcome arms and yet, despite appearances, Grandma had strength enough for both of them.

‘ _ Mildews _ !’ Grandma crowed, kissing Mama. Each cheek smothered with equal enthusiasm. Grandma bellowed their family name proudly, as though it were a powerful incantation she was sending to the skies. 

Silvia slipped from the jeep and hovered at the side-mirror. She’d always thought her last name was ugly and had always disliked when she was referred by it at school, on the register, on the worst day of the year --  _ sports day _ . Mildew. But it always sounded  _ less so _ when Grandma said it. Grandma could make anything, no matter how ugly, sound magical.

Just as she could make things sound better, she could make things _ seem _ better too. Grandma’s deep, dark eyes -- just like Silvia’s -- turned to her, and though dulled by age, were warm and welcome and wholly inviting. When Grandma looked at Silvia, she felt, for a moment, as though she were the only girl in the world. She was seen for all that she was, and all that she was capable of, even if she was too old for some things and yet still too young for others.

‘My, my, Silvie Mildew! C’mere you.’

In an instant, she was crushed into the many ruffled frills of Grandma’s collar and greeted by the familiar, strong scent of earth, wood and smoke. Silvia relaxed into Grandma’s spiny arms, though she shied away from Grandma’s insistent kisses and cooing. It drew a smile from all of her sulking nonetheless.

‘I’ve missed you so much! Look how you’ve grown!’

Since this subject had been such a cause for contention between Silvia and Mama, neither said anything in response to Grandma’s statement. Grandma shrugged, running a twisted hand against Silvia’s cheek. ‘And look at your hair!’

That too, had grown. Long and silvery blonde, like Mama’s. Only loose,  _ always _ messy and not quite as grey and untameable as Grandma’s, a least not just yet. A signature feature inherited from the  _ Mildew _ line, it’s moonlight colour matched her milky skin, with eyes as dark and rich as soil.

‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Silvia lied, a little sullenly.

‘It’s so good to see you Mum. I’ll get the kettle on, we’ve got  _ a lot _ to talk about,’ Mama said with a smile.

‘That we have,’ Grandma agreed, watching as Mama pulled her heels up from the grass, taking long-legged strides towards the cottage, holding her billowing trouser legs up at her knees.

‘Silvia, go grab your things from the boot and bring them inside.’ 

Mama tossed the jangling keys Silvia’s way and though she reached for them, arcing in the air, she missed them by mere inches. It was Grandma who caught them a foot from the ground, clasped in her little hand, deceptively fast for a tiny old lady, hunched and crooked, she heaved herself back into standing, beaming.

Silvia blinked. 

‘C’mon,’ Grandma said, huffing playfully. ‘Hurry up. You look like you need a good brew.’ With a light slap against Silvia’s shoulders, Grandma hobbled off after Mama and into her home. 

With the boot of the jeep open, Silvia’s case was as it had been when Mama had thrown it carelessly into the back. It was so old and worn, brown and scuffed and covered in stamps from Mama’s travels-- long before Silvia came along -- she was surprised and somewhat relieved to find it hadn’t completely busted open on impact, though sleeves and tassels had burst from the broken clasps, hung loose and crumpled, little else was strewn in the boot, save for one open book and her laptop.  _ Not that she needed it. _ Grandma didn’t have the internet.

Silvia sighed.

Snapping the clasps tight and heaving her case from the boot, Silvia tucked her useless laptop under her arm, dragged the case across the garden, bumping over rocks, sliding through grass and forcing it through the hedgerow, she finally made it to the open door and heard the kettle whistle enticing her inside. A low rumbling. Dust in the wind. It was then Silvia spotted the yellow metal on the far hillside. Bulldozers sitting idol on the open grassland. A large sign posted in the distance read:  _ Woodland Haven Luxury Homes coming soon _ in big green cursive letters, as the metal tore, chewed and churned at the empty farmland neighbouring Grandma’s old cottage.

Silvia’s jaw tightened.  _ It was true then. _ Not that she’d thought Mama a liar, but had hoped she was just being dramatic, pulling on Silvia’s heart-strings to get her to stay another summer at Grandma’s as though it was an urgent thing.  _ It may be the last time _ , she’d said. Silvia didn’t think they’d actually already started building on the land near the cottage. Her heart sank down into her stomach. Distracted and stumbling on the porch step, Silvia dropped her case at the door and hurried down the corridor and into the steamy kitchen.

‘Everything alright, Silvie?’ Mama’s head tilted, sitting at the small breakfast table tucked into the corner, a hot tea in hand.

Grandma hovered at the stove waving her tea towel wildly in all directions. Silvia ducked away from an accidental whipping. Everything was as it always was, every summer. A hot kitchen, a hot mug of tea, thrifted cutlery and plates, all mismatched, chipped and worn, always set and ready for mealtime -- and with places set out for more than one. Grandma, after wafting for another minute, flustered and rosy cheeked, handed Silvia a mug of her own.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Mama continued, taking a sip.

Silvia opened her mouth to blurt something about bulldozers but Grandma shrugged and said, ‘maybe she did!’

Neither Silvia or Mama responded.

‘Round these parts, it was more likely to be the fae-folk, don’t know much about ghosts, but I’ve got fairies comin’ out of my ear ‘oles here.’ Grandma chuckled to herself, pulling the teabag from her petite floral cup and saucer -- very well brewed to tar black. ‘Nothin’ to be frightened of Silvie, not the likes of you anyway. Pay no mind, they’re gettin’ ready… and  _ restless _ .’

As it was with Grandma, she’d forever spoken of fairies. To Mama when she was growing up in the cottage and to Silvia who spent every summer with her, as casually as she discussed the weather, or what was for dinner, or what she planned to bake in batches, what vegetable she was going to grow next in her garden…

Every visit, without fail, Grandma spoke of  _ the fairies from another world _ . So much so that Mama and Silvia thought very little of their mention anymore. They were so familiar with the tales of the fae that lived in the woodland behind Grandma’s house -- they could simply move on to other conversation, without a single questioning glance or moment of consideration.

‘And what about you?’ Mama said, peering up from the rim of her cup, stained and shapely eyebrows rising with concern. ‘Have the builders come to see you again since we last spoke about it on the phone?’

Silvia’s stomach churned. Suddenly the fantastical subject of Grandma’s make-believe fairies was preferable. The bulldozers were far closer than she’d imagined.

‘They have,’ Grandma replied with a  _ hmph _ . Apparently, she too, was a tad disgruntled at the topic change. ‘And I think it’s time I sell.’

Mama, for a moment, lost all composure and choked into the china. ‘ _ What? _ ’

Silvia was equally shocked to hear this, her mouth fell open, eyes wide. ‘ _ Seriously? _ ’

‘But the cottage!’ Mama nearly spilled her tea all over the patchwork tablecloth.

‘I’ll leave you money instead,’ Grandma sighed -- as though she’d gone over this a hundred times and was already bored with it. ‘I’ve thought it all out -- you and Silvie will be well taken care of when I --’

Mama’s shock sharpened into rage. ‘Money?! We don’t need that! What about your home?  _ Our _ home? The cottage, it’s history -- Mum, you love this place!’ She was flabbergasted. Gaping like a fish in disbelief.

It was entirely true. They didn’t need any money at all. After all, Mama had already inherited Grandma’s incredible  _ green fingers _ , she’d just taken them from the countryside and messy allotments and into the city, the place that prized minimal green space like natural shrines, filled with floral jewels. She was a well-renowned garden designer, who landscaped tiny penthouse deckings and flower beds along the Thames, to the gardens of stately homes, famous city parks and even the occasional design and upkeep of the royal gardens. It afforded them their white-washed townhouse on a cobblestone street, central London. Mama had said she’d  _ found a real use for Grandma’s old skills. _

Grandma, on the other hand, said Mama had always missed the point.

Silvia -- for once -- was on Mama’s side this time. ‘Don’t sell the cottage!’ She burst, lip wavering. All the tension and arguing all over springtime had been building to something like this.

Grandma’s severe features softened, as her defiant gaze fell upon Silvia’s face. ‘Oh, Silvie, you’ve got to understand. It’s the  _ fairies _ \--’ 

‘Enough with the bloody fairies!’ Mama slammed her teacup onto the table, everything shook. Silvia jumped. `I can’t even believe you’re considering this! I was hoping we could at least discuss this together, as a family! What about Papa? Did you ever think of that? His ashes are scattered right outside!’

Grandma  _ hmph’d _ again, folding her arms across her chest. Grandpa had passed away before Silvia had been born -- though she knew where he’d been scattered. A little stone with his name carved into it had always been embedded in one of many flowerbeds in Grandma’s garden. It did feel very wrong to think of selling the cottage. 

‘ _ Mother,’  _ Mama’s tone was scolding, furious -- as though talking to Silvia of fifteen and not a  _ Grandmother _ . ‘I can get legal advice! I can help! You always told me that money is of no real importance --’

‘It isn’t,’ Grandma snapped. ‘Not where I’m going. I was thinking of you two!’

Mama’s eyes narrowed to mere slits, full of suspicion. ‘What does  _ that _ mean?’ Mama eyed Grandma. ‘Are you hiding something? Are you...  _ ill _ ?’ A flash of worry, she bit her lip. ‘You’re not, are you? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’

‘Where are you going, Grandma?’ Silvia swallowed. Dread inched up her spine at their spiteful snapping back-and-forth. But it was  _ more _ than that. 

‘The Great Conjunction is upon us. Soon there will be a time safe to  _ go back _ . Like the prophecy stated. We’ve been preparing for this for a while. And they said _ I  _ can join them when they go. A great shift is coming! A time of change!’

Grandma might as well have been speaking an entirely different language for all Silvia understood of  _ that _ .

‘It’s not the time for games,’’ Mama stressed, a finely manicured hand running through her trimmed blonde bob, unusually ruffled. ‘You’re  _ really _ considering giving this place up?’ She shook her head. Silvia had never seen Mama look defeated before. Not once.  _ Not ever. _

‘Not considering,’ Grandma said. ‘It’s already signed.’

~

The argument exploded from there on out -- shouting and yelling that continued for hours between Mama and Grandma. Mama pressing Grandma to get herself a lawyer, and Grandma snapping that her decision was final, and would make things easier on everyone.  _ It’s lucky the cottage was so secluded _ , Silvia thought, her head aching and threatening to flourish into a full blown migraine. She hurried to the spare bedroom without excusing herself -- not that they’d notice -- and didn’t complain once about having to drag her suitcase up the tiny, winding staircase. She tossed herself onto the little bed, wanting to drown out all of their anger.

Words were tossed into the flurry. Swears and insults. Some of which Silvia had never heard in all her life. Grandma had said she was ‘ _ going to Thra _ .’ Mama had said she was ‘ _ going insane, more like _ !’ After some time, and shed tears from Mama, -- Silvia could hear her angry sobbing -- the fierceness over the cottage, dulled to little more than weak retorts.

This wasn’t how she wanted to spend the week of her sixteenth birthday! Silvia huffed. She was angry. She was hurt. It was suddenly all too important to stay even if she really didn’t want to. Screaming once into a particularly plump pillow, Silvia starfished on the musty quilt -- falling in and out of headachey half-sleep. 

‘I’m sorry Silvie but I’m not staying for supper. I need to get back on the road.’ 

Lips lightly pressed against Silvia’s cheek, rousing her from a cottony dreamlessness. Blinking back sleep, Mama’s face rippled in and out of blurry focus. 

‘Here,’ Mama said. ‘Your glasses.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’m sorry about earlier --’ 

Mama sat herself at the edge of the bed, tired and pale, her collar askew, her cheeks red and raw. Shoulders slack and sighing. The sun was setting, pouring oranges and pinks through the tiny window and into the bedroom that had been Mama’s once upon a time. But she didn’t turn to face the memorabilia, she turned to Silvia instead, sadness filmed her deep eyes.

‘Grandma and I, we’ve always had our differences,’ she started. ‘And even though we argue and we often disagree, I love her. Just like I love you.  _ Very much. _ And Grandma, she loves you too, more than anything in the whole universe!’ Mama gave a watery smile, taking Silvia’s hand in her own.

Silvia avoided eye contact best she could. Guilt clogged her throat. Blinking back the threat of tears, she kept a firm mask of teenage indifference. Disagreeing and shouting and arguing is all that her and Mama had been doing. Now it was Mama and Grandma’s turn. She didn’t want to be here, witnessing all of this. It would have been better to have stayed in the city, just like she’d actually wanted.

‘But this will be the last time you will get to stay here,’ Mama concluded. ‘Grandma’s decided that’s what she wants.’ Mama looked like she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. ‘So make the most of it, will you Silvie?’ She squeezed her fingers tight. ‘Make the most of being young and free.’

A beat passed, Silvia chewed on the inside of her cheek.

‘I offered for Grandma to come and live with us for a bit -- when it’s time to move. There’s still a couple of months left before she’s got to go. Maybe we can all take a holiday together when it’s all sorted. That would be nice, don’t you think?’

Mama had travelled abroad for a lot of her early life, they’d never been on holiday together, ever. Silvia had rarely ever surpassed the city with Mama, only when the time came each summer to migrate up to the country.  _ This was really happening. _ With her free hand, Silvia clung to the bed sheets, palms clammy.

‘Maybe Grandma is right --’ Mama suggested, a quiet thought in the glowering silence. ‘Maybe this is the  _ time for change _ .’

‘Sure, Ma. That’ll be great.’ To Silvia’s surprise the idea of change suddenly frightened her, far more than it thrilled her.

They’d hugged and said their goodbyes -- as was the natural order of things. Silvia’s head still throbbed, her eyes tired and swollen, stomach rumbling, lunch, dinner  _ and _ supper skipped, wanting to retreat to bed as soon as Mama hopped into her jeep and made the journey back to London alone. Grandma and Mama were noticeably subdued with each other but kissed and bid each other goodbye at the door just the same.

‘Be good for Grandma please,’ Mama said, taking Silvia’s cheek in her hand and squishing with her thumb and forefinger. ‘Remember what I said? Make the most of it!’ She was smiling but it was lopsided, if not a little sad.

‘I will, Ma.’

‘I’ll see you both in a few weeks,’ she said. ‘Try and stay out of trouble.’

‘Off with you,’ Grandma shooed her from the steps playfully, Mama’s and Grandma’s eyes meeting. Embracing one last time.

‘Alright -- alright --’ Mama chuckled, juggling her keys before turning to the jeep. The engine hummed against the white noise of crickets. The moon already cresting through the clouds, dusk brought both darkness and stars with it to see Mama off on her journey. ‘Love you,’ she called. Blowing a kiss from the window, wound down.

‘Safe journey Ma,’ Silvia shouted, an unfamiliar weight settling in her chest.

She’d been sick of the same old story, and now, that’s what she wanted. If only for a second. This was the last time she’d say goodbye to Mama like this, wave from the porch of the little old cottage door. Feel the sticky warmth of the summer air.

‘Love you,’ Grandma said. Bony fingers at thin and twisted lips, she blew a kiss as Mama pulled from the driveway, out onto the weaving road. Her headlights beamed. Her horn honked loudly, indicator flashing. Then she was gone.

‘Whew! What a day! Let’s get some food in you Silvie before you waste away!’ 

Silvia hung at the doorway for just a little longer than Grandma. As though trying to cling to the moment of goodbyes for  _ one final time _ . Her head was splitting, tummy rumbling and squinting through the darkness, she tried to spot Mama’s jeep tail-lights in moonlight haze. But instead of the road -- something glittery caught her eye, off beyond the trees that surrounded Grandma’s home grounds. A shimmering, a iridescence in the blackness of the trees. It hurt to focus.  _ Really hurt. _

Silvia gasped. First with shock, stumbling. And then with pain.

The migraine rolled in like an angry storm across her tired mind, like charging soldiers at war within her skull. And so, Silvia was forced, eyes dotted with colour and almost blinded, to go back inside. To go eat and get some actual sleep.

For the briefest of moments -- there at the woodland edge, Silvia had thought she’d seen one of them.

Wings that glittered in the ambient light. 

A fairy.


End file.
